The Epistolean
by Baha
Summary: Pacey's relationship with his family, friends and conquests explored through letters to boyhood friend Will Krudski. Basically Pacey's POV from season one onwards. R&R please!
1. Sea creatures

In his bedroom, Pacey sprawled on his front, chewing aimlessly at a broken pencil as he poured over several crumpled letters in his hand. All addressed to him and all from the one friend. Phone calls were apparently too much of a nuisance for either of their father's to accept, and so, letters their only real opportunity to follow each other's lives.

Night had long since arrived, and the strained lamp above caused him to squint at the scrawled print before him. He pulled at his coffee, took a generous swig, wiped at his mouth with a sleeve and drew on an exaggerated yawn.

* * *

Dear Cruddy,

Today was hell. Y'know, to say the least. I mean, it's bad enough I can't go loiter innocently on the docks with you anymore, but Dawson's the only real friend left and let's face it - he's a dumbass. Well, he's a million times smarter than me, but he's profoundly clueless when it comes to all things un-him. If his name isn't central to the plot, it can't be all that important, or I'm exaggerating things. But I'm sure, _deep_ down, he means well. It isn't his fault he's so annoyingly optimistic, it isn't his fault his family mirror some perfect little thing from a Disney film. It isn't his fault mines don't.

I'm not _really_ angry at D, I know who I'm angry at, but it's easier to be angry at a friend than _him_. It's just that, Dawson's supposed to understand. You know? He bangs on about this connection between himself and Joey and how much he values his friendships, but you're the only one that really gets it.

In your last letter you talked about this look your dad gets when he's going to start in on your mom. The... the point-of-no-return look and you can automatically predict how the argument's going to pan out from there on in; well I caught that same look in my own pop's eye after he found out I posted two C's at school. I don't need to go into the graphics of it all, but you can probably guess the rest.

What's more, Heaven forbid, I stood poor Dawson and Joey up. Remember I told you about that little horror flick Dawson dreamt up last fall? He finally finished his script and volunteered my summer to helping him shoot it. "Sea Creature from the Deep," if the title makes you laugh, you should read the script. No, sorry. That's an insult. Can't go insulting King Leery.

Hey, don't judge me Will because I can just picture you smirking and shaking your head once you scan a critical eye over this. Next to you, he's my best friend. I'd just like him to appreciate that once in a while. He treats Joey with so much reverence, but finds the audacity to try to "pull me into line" after I've just gone up against the Great Sheriff Witter for a solid hour. They're both real asses sometimes.

And Dawson wonders why I'm not talking to him.

* * *

Pacey dropped his pencil with another tired yawn. He flexed the fingers of his left hand as it cramped up on him. Such a short letter, but such a strained two hours of heart and contemplation.

He usually surprised himself at how easy it felt opening up to Will through their writing; especially seeing as the boys were never particularly close when in the same living quarters, but as Will had expressed once "there's no going back once we've bonded over dysfunctional dad issues" and he was right. They've continued to console each other ever since.

"Pacey!"

Pacey hauled himself to his feet, folded his letter up and slipped it desperately into the back pocket of his jeans. He crossed his arms and feigned innocence as his eldest sister bounded in, clutching the hand of her wailing young.

"Dinner, runt. You're not going to be called again." Pacey nodded with a forced smile. She paused in the doorway. "What are you up to in here anyway?" She glared about his domain curiously, "If you're taking something, smoking, Dad _will_ find out, you know."

"Oh, I know, Carrie. He has his spies, right?" Pacey squinted, with a mock paranoia. His nephew giggled and snapped away from his mother instantly. Pacey bent his knees, and with outstretched arms swept the boy into a tight embrace. "What's say we go force your granny's inedible charcoal down our throats and then I'll see if there's some icecream left at the back of the freezer, huh Paul?"

"I wouldn't get too attached to Uncle Pacey, sweetheart. You won't be seeing much of him soon."

"Are you leaving?" Pacey asked, failing to disguise his enthusiasm.

"No, but you hid your report card well. It could fall into the wrong hands stuffed at the back of the sofa like that. Luckily for you, Jeremy found it and gave it up to me."

Pacey expelled a relieved sigh and dropped his forehead against Paul's as the child cuddled against him.

"And then of course I felt obliged to give it up to Dad," She chuckled and ruffled a hand through his hair before he could shrug her away. "Dinner's going to be _so _interesting this evening. Just as well though, there's flip all on the TV."


	2. Cave

Pacey rubbed at his bloodshot eyes and collapsed back onto his bed. Turning onto his side to face the wall, he pulled at a previous attempt at summing up the next installment of his life to Will Krudski from the back pocket of his jeans.

Since Carrie's intervention, pressure was mounting. Scanning through his first sentence, he crumpled the lot, snapped himself up and towards his desk and searched for a clean new page. He began again.

* * *

Can you believe this summer is already drawing to a close? Having bounced from _Screen_ _Play _to Dawson's dock, I haven't had the chance to appreciate my time, to consolidate my energy and do something completely satisfactory. Namely, watching TV.

Joey's really starting to get at me as well. It was great a few months back when she wasn't so self-aware about our ever-changing bodies through this rough ole period they call the "teenage years." Nothing came down to gender. She could beat me, and equally I could retaliate with a swift whack at her.

Now I'm not even allowed to touch her without it being an attempt at sexual whatnot. There's nothing remotely sexual about that girl. I mean, she is _nice_ and all, but she's way too neurotic for anyone's taste, even Dawson's it would seem. She must think it's some kind of endearing little character trait but who has the time for that?

Yes, you guessed correctly Will my man, through my extensive research I've discovered that with these raging hormones flying every which way that little Joey Potter keeps stressing over, turns out she has the hots for Dawson. I hereby ask you to scratch what I said in my previous letter which by the way you haven't replied to as of yet, because the boy seems to be clueless even when the plot is encroaching him. He's blind to her, man, in fact he's so blind that the Three Blind Mice themselves could have their wicked way with her and he still wouldn't catch on.

How do I know all this I hear you laugh? Well, dear Josephine's angry. Yeah, yeah, she's always angry, but seriously suckin'-on-a-lemon bitter-type-angry. It's like, my mere presence annoys the hell out of her because I'm third party to her torrid little unaffair.

Take two night's ago for example. It was Movie Night and my stab at picking the feature film. It had a little flesh in it. Something the boy hadn't seen before. He blushed and Joey leapt up at me, claiming I was "corrupting Dawson." Ever the jealous girlfiend, that one.

Anyway, because I'm a pig and she's a lady now there's no hitting back, right? She can jump over Dawson's bed and pound the hell out of me just as she pleases and I'm supposed to lay there and take it, powerless to resist. Tell me, Cruddy, when and where did I sign up for that? It sounds to me like a pretty raw deal on my part.

We didn't even finish the film after that. The children had a "moment," this gentle unknown flirting drifting between them was enough to make any guy puke, it's like watching your parents attempt the sweet-nothings gig.

So I headed home, and Will, remind me next time that Joey's slights are a heck of a lot more endurable that the knocks I have to take back at the Witter House of Horrors; but I'll explain that on a different page on a different day with a different pen. I just don't have the energy right now and the inks running low.

* * *

Pacey sighed heavily and wiped at his eyes again. He held his unfinished-finished letter with a shaking hand and turned it over as tears cascaded his cheeks. He vowed to wait until Will responded to this before he would start on chapter two of that same Movie Night.

It wasn't fair to post something away without the comfort of knowing it wasn't reaching a good friend any longer. Or perhaps Will had grown bored of him and was secretly laughing at his words with new friends in Raleigh. Maybe he just didn't care enough to counsel back. Wrapped in his insecurities, Pacey settled to sleep for the night.


	3. Stands to reason

Will kicked back in his chair, supported only by the back legs. He was by the desk in his bedroom, but he was not studying nor had he any homework to absorb himself with. Instead, he listened with a determined scowl to his parents' bitter undertones rising above them and up the stairs.

He made out certain insults because they had been used before, he was able to guess certain accusations because, again, it had all tripped off his father's tongue the last time he was forced to seek solace in his bedroom. Physically wincing, Will heard something break, probably a glass and probably aimed at his father. Then he heard another, probably a dirty dinner plate and probably aimed at his mother. Then, a stillness.

He rose from his chair, his eyes darting alertly and his cheeks drained of all colour. Coming to the door and creeping onto the landing, Will was careful not to make himself seen. He had been warned before. Taking hold of the banister, he waited until his father slurred some more insults before crashing out the front door in an embarrassing state.

Before Will's unsocked foot could reach the second step, his mother, doing little to veil her tears, flew up by him and didn't seem too interested in acknowledging him. He reached out for her elbow, causing her to finally turn to him sharply. Her face contorted in a vicious anger.

"Everything's fine, William. Don't you have any school work to be getting on with?"

Will stuttered uselessly, she sighed, then softened, touched his elbow in response and stormed away for her bedroom. He decided then that he had something to be doing, he needed to get things off his chest.

"Pacey…"

* * *

Dear Witless, 

I'm really sorry I haven't been keeping in touch as regularly as we used to. You must have sent one letter to me at the start of the summer and I just got your last, you're right, a whole summer has zipped by and I failed to respond to either of them. I'm sorry for neglecting things like that. I was being selfish I guess.

You see, things were going well for the Krudski family believe it or not. I guess I didn't want to jinx it. If I reported on the home front, telling you how it was all well and good, telling you that my dad actually managed to stay off the drink for a little while… God, man, I didn't want to jinx anything.

Stupid reason, huh? I also got this feeling that we've been using each other. A great theme to your letters seems to be about friendships, man, I don't know if you've noticed that. Before your dad noticeably turned that is. I want to give you a little bit of advice. You complain about Dawson and Joey's little dance they do, but you don't understand fully how much you draw on them. They're your world, loser. They're great people and you love 'em, like it or not. Hence the playful teasing you have for one Joey Potter.

Anyway, the reason I think we use each other… I mean, we only write to each other when things get tough. For me, at least, you're this wonderful little distraction, man. Is that wrong? Or is that all friends are to each other whether they live across the creek or a million billion miles away? Not that there's such a distance between us but neither of us have cars so you feel my pain hehe. You value your friendships a great deal, it's what I admire about you dude, so tell me, do we use each other?

I mean, I was able to ignore you for a whole summer because you reminded me of bad times. Anyway, needless to say, things have returned to the way I guess they're just meant to be. No, things haven't returned, they have worsened. Everything has definitely worsened.

You remember my mother Pacey? She was strong, she was beautiful, she loved her garden. She doesn't leave the house anymore, she barely leaves the kitchen. She cooks and cleans for that man only for him to kick up over dinner telling her how useless she is.

As for being strong, as for being beautiful; the strongest thing she can do is get up in the mornings, she haunts this house like a broken… ghost. She's certainly not alive anymore, she has no inspiration. She used to cuddle up to me and tell me things would be right again, but there was no right, apart from this summer. Now dad's back with a vengeance and Pacey, man, it ain't pretty. She's distant with me, she pretends everything's alright, not in the way she used to, not with this faint hope about how things could be, but that it _is _meant to be this way. She's meant to live this life and do it without complaining.

I'm sorry for using you, Pace. I think very highly of you, believe it or not. Even when I was kicking your ass, I was enjoying your company haha. Anyway, I've rejoined you in the pits of crap. Don't lose your humour, man, you'll do well with it; and hey, your dad's just one person, don't let his words form your personality.

I say this and I know you're disagreeing with me, but I have a pretty good idea about the next theme of your letter. Write it, man. I'm here. See neither of our bedrooms are big enough to escape the gruesome boring realities, so I'll always be here. Till then, peace out.

Will.


	4. That you would turn on me

Pacey held in his hand Will's lone letter whilst trying to put pen to paper himself. He wanted to address all of Will's fears in his own account because he knew that these were his fears too, but Will didn't deserve nor would he need a reassurance that their relationship was in tact. The mere fact that Pacey would still be able to write and confide in him is answer enough.

This understanding, Pacey hoped, would even help reinforce their friendship, and he only wished that the trust between both parties could be as strong on the Dawson and Joey front, because Will was right, they were his friends and he needed them.

* * *

Do you notice my new pen? Well, Dawson's new pen, but what he doesn't know can't hurt him. The blue one wasted on me. Black's so gay. But hey. You don't know how long it's taken me to even think about writing this, you don't know how many pages I've chucked away in the bin so you may read this and you may reply to this. Nice little intro for you there, and so the story picks up again…

Pop had hit the whiskey again. I should have known something was up as soon as I got in. The house was pitch black, everyone in bed. It couldn't have been all that late. I headed for the kitchen for some milk. I don't even like the stuff let alone drink it, but I remember wanting something cold. The fridge door immersed a strip of the room in light and I caught a figure propped up against the sink.

I turned, reached for the light and there he was. In full glory. Eyes red. A pool of drool coursing one corner of his lips. In an instant he moved for me, the palm of his hand catching me across the cheek. It stung like there was no tomorrow but I couldn't cry out. Aside from the fact that I'd just be asking for it then, I didn't actually know what it was that I could have done to upset him, Will.

I swear to God, man, I've been keeping my head down, staying out of trouble. Well, I certainly made a point of keeping my head down this time, I kept it real low. My eyes were trained on my worn shoes when I felt his fist seize onto a clump of my hair. He forced me to concentrate on him, not that I could think of much else at this point. My eyes glazed over and I felt so…

I felt humiliated, Will. I mean, I'd actually prefer to well-up before Joey than this bloody man, you know? Of course you know. You always know. He told me I was a waste of space, that's nothing new; you would even think I'd be used to it by now. But seriously, Will, why would he bother disciplining my ass if I'm not worth it? How could either of us possibly benefit if the whole Witter network has already written me off?

He told me to get up to bed, but he was still holding on to me. I think when he realised I wasn't going to lash out, or yell some smart ass remark, it surprised him. He seemed to sober up quickly. Not that I know he was drunk, I couldn't smell it on his breath, but I hope to God he was. As I said, he's back on the whiskey; I just hope he was drinking it on that particular night too. I need all the excuses I can get here. The possibility that the man just doesn't like me… it's a little hard to take.

Anyway, sobered up he did. I probably wasn't all that clever at disguising my fear. God knows, I've had to retake that Sea Creature gig over and over again due to my acting abilities or lack thereof. I can joke about the character not having enough scope, no depth, but with my pop it's just me, one Pacey Witter, alone and quivering.

He let go of me and wiped a hand over his face, mumbling an incoherent apology. I got the gist of it as I stumbled backwards into the fridge door. I'd forgotten to close it. The milk carton I had sitting out on one of the shelves fell to the floor, but I continued my backward exit. I wasn't crying over spilled milk, that's for sure.

* * *

Pacey folded up his letter with a quiet satisfaction at finally being able to relive the night long enough to explain it on paper. He hid it in his desk drawer, ready for posting in the morning, and undressed himself for bed before laying under the covers for the night.

Pulling his pillow to his chest he allowed a drawn out, rattling breath to cross his lips, fearing - knowing - that this type of letter would only be the first of many, a quick prologue to how his life would develop thereafter.


	5. Welcome distractions

Dear Pacey,

I wrote an especially long piece telling you to talk to someone. Anyone. A family member or the Leery's. A teacher or a neighbour. Anyone. In the letter, I told you that you can't keep relying on our letters because I'm an absent friend; that there's only so much I can do. Then I realised I was being hypocritical and I was underestimating the power of our friendship. You're the single person in the world that keeps my hope alive. Not in a romantic sense, but if you can overcome it and have your personality in check then I know, one day, I'll get my mother back.

Needless to say I chucked the letter in the bin. Ripped it up angrily. I'm as angry at your dad as I am my own now. They say bullies are weak, but if someone can single-handedly destroy another person then they can't all be that unstopable. Look at Hitler. Not that you're a Jew or anything, and not that my dad has a scary little moustache, but you get my stupid comparison there. Hopefully.

I came to realise just as I was signing off that our letters are pretty important. I mean, so much so that I've kept them all. All these years, every last one. By the way, your hand writing has definitely improved. Saying that, when I moved and we first started writing you'd broken your arm or something, hadn't you? I guess I can let that slide then.

How are you now Pacey? I'm guessing you probably don't want to relay things again, I mean, you already summarised the whole thing in your last letter so you don't need to answer that question. It's just one of those 'are you okay?' questions you ask a little kid when they've fallen and hurt themselves and are bawling their eyes out. It's not necessarily a rhetorical question either, but it's just one that has to be thrown out there. You know I needed to ask it.

You will write me if he pulls another stunt like that again, won't you? I'm really sorry, but I have this terrible feeling that it isn't just a one off. I've seen how it all starts. With my mom. As you already know. If you're to promise me one thing though, I want it to be this:

Don't blame yourself, man. Don't look for excuses. You mentioned alcohol, you mentioned keeping your head down, you mentioned everyone else writing you off as a waste of space too. None of this is your fault. If your dad's drinking then it's the drink, if he's not then he's not. Either way, you don't factor into it. As for the rest of your family, screw 'em. He's just raised them that way, and if you did have the chance to talk to them you would probably find they're just as afraid as you are.


	6. Miss Jacobs

Dear Will,

You're completely right. Screw my family. To hell with them. I've decided I'm adopted anyway. It would totally explain things. Or maybe my mom had an affair with the milkman and they're all jealous that I got the good lookin' genes.

Guess what? It's a sunny day today and I am in the best of best moods. There's this new girl that's rolled into town. Her name's Jen. She's really cool and just what the little circle needs around here. Not that I'm interested in her _that _way, although Dawson really needs to wipe the drool. He couldn't be more obvious.

I have my sights set on someone higher and equally as blonde. Her name's Tamara. Dude! She's... woah. Imagine - no, I can't even compare her to anyone. It would be like comparing someone to Jesus. It just can't be done, (And no, I don't have a thing for Jesus).

I arranged for this little double date type situation down the Rialto for me, Dawson and Jen, in the faint hope that I could accidently-on-purpose without-her-realising-it bump into Tamara. The only problem was that Dawson hadn't yet made his move on Jen and to avoid awkwardness invited Joey along so I was kind of stuck with her for the evening. But I was the perfect gentleman, power to the feminists and all that, I let her buy her own ticket.

I abandoned them as soon as the movie played up and, Will, it wasn't one of my finer moments I'll admit. Tamara kind of had company and I got in a little bit of a scuffle. Not with the guy in question, but some ass behind us who actually came to the Rialto to watch the movie. Who does he think he is? Dawson?

But it's all good because she came and found me afterwards. Took pity on me. She kissed me! I don't expect you to comprehend the significance of her kissing me, but believe me, it's a fairly rare occassion. Not just because this is me we're talking about, but because she's my... ah, well, I can't tell you. I don't kiss and tell. I mean... shut up, Will! Anyway, she's a pretty special someone. That's why this is rare. I scored big time, man, big time.

Lo- Scribble that out... I wasn't about to write 'love.' I'm high, ignore me.

Later, Pace.

* * *

Pacey allowed his finished letter to fall from his grasp. He hopped excitedly from his bed and sprinted the short distance to the mirror hanging next to his dresser. He allowed his fingers to brush over his black eye, pressing at the wound tenderly. A smirk played on his lips and he shook his head, 

"God, Will, you don't know the half of it."


	7. Contradictions

Will pulled off his shoes and settled into his desk chair with a quick stretch of the arms. He swivelled round to the disarray of notes and text books and picked up an orphaned letter, one he had not yet filed away with the rest. It wasn't owed to the ages because he hadn't yet replied.

He didn't know how to reply. Pacey's life needed to slow down or one of them was going to explode. If he was having trouble keeping up to speed with how things were developing, he wondered how his poor misguided little Capesidian was doing. Pacey, in actualy fact, was coping just nicely, and it was this that scared Will most.

* * *

Pacey J. Witter, 

Before I confront you about this you stupid, stupid boy, and please don't insult my intelligence by writing a letter of denial in reply, what on God's name have you done? I actually have a pretty fair idea of what you have done, but I'm not going to throw it out there. It's absurd, but unfortunately for the both of us, as long as I've known you, I've come to learn that most of your hair-brained schemes are. Anyway, I'm giving you the opportunity to **confess all now**.

Apart from the fact that you almost signed off "Love Pace" in which case it would be obligatory for me to tease you unconditionally for the rest of your natural-born life, you also seemed kind of... _too_ happy. You aren't allowed to be happy, not _that_ happy. It isn't healthy.

You can't write how crap things are one minute and bounce to the other end of the spectrum of emotion the next. You just can't. And yet, you always bloody do. When you know you're in the wrong, you don't get defensive like the rest of us or... or quiet or anything like that. Pacey? Pacey gets jittery. Nervous. Pacey rambles. Pacey fidgets.

Now what has Pacey so jittery lately? So nervous? Enough to have him ramble away from his home-life, enough to have him fidgeting so much so that he can't keep his mind off the wonderful Tamara and nearly ends up sending his love to an equally screwed-up friend? Hmmm? Any takers?

Pacey, this _girl_ you're suddenly interested in, the one that kissed you. She does go to your school, doesn't she?

When you get a dangerous idea into your head, but it seems like good fun at the time, you're a man on a mission and it can't be stopped. Well, I'm trying to stop you now, before you sucker yourself in head over heels. I'm trying to stop you because in this mode, you're like a drug addict. You can't understand the better alternative in life because as far as you're concerned, being high is enjoyable therefore there's nothing wrong.

You're also a contradiction, Pacey. You're like a child. You're innocent, you're naive, you're... okay, I don't mean you're a child. I'm sure that was pretty insulting to read. But you are, you're immature. At the same time, you can be very wise. As well as your mental age, you also contradict yourself in another way. You can be terribly cocky - extremely overconfident - and that's probably the sole reason you clash with Joey; but I know that beneath all that you're... you're insecure, dude. I prefer the wise, insecure you; please don't stick with the immature cocky you in this particular situation, it'll end in - damn it Pacey! I'm so frustrated with you, man!

So I beg of you. From a friend to a friend. Think before you jump. I'm just not there to catch you when you fall, lover boy. And Tamara? If she kissed you, she probably has issues too.

P.S I know.

Anxiously awaiting your justification letter,

Will.

* * *

Will slammed his pen onto his notepad and fixed the letter into the waiting envelope against his desk tidy. He contemplated phoning Pacey about this, knowing that hearing the husky whisper of his friend on the end of the receiver would calm him - assure him - that he was overreacting and things would be fine. 

He knew he couldn't do this though. He doesn't deserve to have the comfort of direct line because the last time he phoned it was over something trivial, and knowing it was unusual alarmed Pacey. The boy's breath hitched and fear cracked at his voice. Pacey admitted to imagining Mr Krudski laying into his wife so severely that she was in hospital 'or something,' equally upsetting Will too.


	8. Left from Right from Wrong

Dear Will E. Krudski,

Sorry it took me so long to reply. Fine, so Tamara wasn't exactly our age. But _damn_ you're good. Anyway, it doesn't really matter. You can stuff your advice, she moved away. Fair enough she hopped towns to prevent the risk of prosecution, but I can't help but feel it was me who got the raw end of the deal - again. I mean, she doesn't have a badge brother and a pistol-whipping dad. Okay, so I didn't get pistol-whipped, that's such a lie, but my pop was furious. It's like he was looking for an excuse to hate me, another 'congratulations Pacey, you've proved, yet again, you're an embarrassment unto yourself and this entire family.'

And I really, _really_ dislike Dougie. You said in one of your last letters that my siblings were probably just as afraid of my folks as I am. Well, I'm not afraid of him per se, but anyway, that's not the point I'm trying to make. The point is... Dougie isn't. He's Golden Boy, when I'm in trouble, I make him look good. He sort of maybe had the hots for Tammy you see, which I can't control, then I started in on my closet-case schtick and he wasn't best pleased... I see where he's coming from there though.

But anyway, after the whole teacher/student scandal thing came to light - because believe me dude, came to light it did - oh, he was so cocky. So angry. He flat out refused to believe it was true, as did most people around town including my parents regardless of how little faith they have in me, but even though he maintained he didn't believe a word of such a malicious rumour apparently spread by yours truly, he was still... well, when my dad beats me he can only take it so far because God forbid he's meant to be policing the town, he can't be seen engaging in a little armed combat around the house. But Deputy Doug only just fully realised this sibling-rivalry role. He can rough me up however damn well he pleases and there's not a thing I can do about it because, lets face it, it's Golden Boy, and it's chalked up to brothers just brawling, you know? _Boys will be boys _and all that. But I'm not exaggerating, it's borderline abuse. You know those baton things police officers carry? Ouch.

But the Witters aside, I'm starting to appreciate Dawson's friendship a hell of a lot more. The summer before sophomore, I was actually prepared to just cut all ties with him in spite of what your last letters claimed. A few months ago, he was driving me crazy. Absolutely crazy. Everything was about him trying to win over Jen, but he failed to actually do anything... he got her in the end though, I don't exactly know how that happened. Maybe she feels sorry for him; and before Jen it was 'Joey's so great, Joey's my soulmate... oh, yeah, you Pacey. Hi.' Well, hey to you too buddy. But through the whole Tamara business, he was kind of helpful. Worried. He really took an interest (but if this episode in my life ends up on screen in a few years, he's in for one hell of a ride, trust me).

Which brings me to something else. Joey. Josephine Potter. She actually took pity on me. It's fair to say she's always been lacking in the compassion quarters when it comes to me, but she actually sat with me, at the time, because it was straight after school, straight after everyone found out, she bothered to sit and talk with _me_: the social leper.

And I am a social leper. You would think in a highschool I'd be bumped up to Mister Popular, the 'guy who laid the pipe with Miss Jacobs' but the reactions amongst our peers are two-fold. Yes, to those whose lives are so unfulfilling that they cling to and absorb any piece of info going on a fellow classmate albeit one of those traumatic important things that separate everything in your life thus far to everything that follows, I'm the kid who... in a high-level fantasy way, but to others I'm the spaz who slept with the teacher and still couldn't get A's.

And the consequences of these reactions is also two-fold. It's easy to paint myself as the town loser who lied about such a thing just to draw attention to himself because he isn't getting some and because there's not enough love going around at home and all that little boy lost crap, but being tarred with that brush is only by those who refuse to believe ie my family. The two-fold thing for the believers, most obviously, tarnishes my reputation as that nice little Leery boy's sidekick (but I've been meaning to break free from that ball and chain for a while now) and it doesn't really bode well for Tamara.

To play the spaz is just as humiliating. Do you know it's become some ongoing joke that I'm nothing but the dumbass who was so stupid he had to give it to his English teacher just to prevent himself flunking the class? Just a fortnight ago I was leant up against my locker chatting away to Jen and two seniors come up from behind and knock our books out of our hands. Dawson and Joey come, I don't know where they spring from but they're suddenly on the scene anyway, and the seniors tackle me to the ground - in the corridor, in front of everyone, my friends, their friends - and hold me down until a third manages to write 'L' and 'R' on the soles of my trainers because, like I said, I'm so stupid I probably don't know my left from my right.

They understood my left hook though. Of course I got the detention. They didn't even know me. I mean, everyone's gotten in on that joke and it wasn't even like that. I cared for her, man. I really did.

* * *

Pacey glared over his words with a personal dissatisfaction. He felt too whiney, too honest. Ripping it easily down the middle, he pulled a blank page to him and scrawled quickly:

_Dear Will E. Krudski,_

_Yes. I nailed my teacher. It was good. But then it got bad. _

_Pacey._


	9. Walls

Dear Pace,

You can't just send something like that and expect me not to press you on it. What the hell happened? Did people find out? Did she break it off? Did you break it off? Are you okay?

I have this feeling that you had a hell of a lot more to say, you know. In fact, I know you had a hell of a lot more to say and I know that you know... why I know. Anyway I'm starting to confuse myself so at a guess... you have a couple letters that at the time you had every intention of sending me but then bottled out at the last minute and now they're either stuffed in a drawer somewhere or ripped and binned and nearly forgotten. But sorry dude, no can do, I'm not going to let you forget. I _tried_ to warn you, I told you so, didn't I? Dear God I sound like Leery and Potter lol, but hey. I'm going to enjoy this. You Pacey Witter need to calm down, take a breath, look around yourself. Yeah. This is it. This is your life. This is your life and you had better make the most of it man because I'll tell you one thing:

With-holding information - not that you have to answer to me or anything but still - it won't change matters any. The facts still remain the same. You played with some wholly great flames and got your fingers burnt and why? The truth is that you probably wanted a little bit of a distraction, right? I mean, to chase... what was her name? Tamara? Miss Jacobs? (I don't exactly know how I'm supposed to refer to her, she's not my teacher, and no matter what you say in my head she's still the filthy hag that touched my fifteen year old friend).

I'm sorry if I'm coming across all judgemental here. Actually, I'm not that sorry. Maybe if Dawson's as good a friend as you say he is then he would have listened to you to begin with before the entire debacle escalated into what it did. I mean, I tried but there's only so far a letter can take us. The pen is definitely not as powerful as the sword because believe me dude if we were within arms length you would so be whacked upside the head by now.

And I'm sorry but Dawson should have noticed, I mean, he's your only real close guy friend and if he wasn't so hooked on... is it Joey or that new chick that you said rolled into town? I mean when I first started going out with Tricia, I still found time for my friends. Well, my Raleigh friends. You know what I mean. Dominic and Theresa and Chris and stuff. By the way, last time you visited you forgot to tell me that you and Theresa sort of started a little something, you dog! She says hi. Don't worry, she's not here. No one knows I write to you as I'm sure no one knows you write to me, but I'm sure if she had an inkling she would say hi.

So... am I going to get a better explanation or am I stuck with "it got bad" accompanied with the usual Pacey Witter response ie the careless shrug of the shoulder, light comedy and a new wall erects itself and before I know it there's another thing that no one can penetrate, just like your home life, something you don't even tell your closest friends about? You know I hope to God one day you'll wake up and realise that not everyone's laughing, I think you're funny as hell but I don't think you a joke. Come on dude.

Well, when you're ready,

Will.


	10. Hurricane Pace

Dear William,

Okay first off, not to make a joke out of a bad situation but please! Did you read over what you wrote before you decided to wing it my way here in lovely ole Capeside? "A new wall erects itself... no one can penetrate... come on dude... when you're ready." Let me get one thing straight, buddy, and I mean straight. Just because my relationship if it even constituted as that went the way of the dodo does not mean to say I'm looking at you in a new light. But I'll say hello to Dougie for you.

Okay in all seriousness? I had a couple letters in and between the second last one you sent and the last one I sent. You remember Hurricane Chris came into town? I don't actually know how far down it hit, but anyway we had danger flags on a strip of our beaches and we were given the day off school as, you know, a precaution. Of course my day off involved sticking up aforementioned danger flags with my dear Deputy brother, but sure what's new?

The letter in question was actually about Doug, and why I hate him. Okay, okay, I don't hate him, I guess I love him because I have to... but I just hate him. When we were laying the flags up that day we ended up at Tamara's house and I don't know how he swung it, but he managed to persuade her to let us accompany her through the storm. Apparently she doesn't do well in bad weather, blah blah.

Anyway, he was totally flirting with her the entire time. I mean, it's Doug I'm talking about here. My big gay shy brother who uses me to exert what little authority he has regardless of his supposed role in the town. Anyway, it was totally out of order. She's far too old for him and she's a _teacher _for crying out loud, _my _teacher. It was both sick and wrong.

So I told her he was gay. He wasn't best pleased. Pulled a gun on me, but that's nothing new. I circled back around the beach after I finally ditched him and... yeah, that was pretty much the extent of the letter (I couldn't tell you off hand word for word because it's been a while and it's long since torn up but in case you think I'm keeping anything else from you then nope, that really is all I had to say). Oh, and the day everything came out about me and Tamara, Bessie Potter had her baby. I hope to God I didn't forget to mention that Bessie was pregnant. Okay, guess what? Joey's sister got pregnant. Guess what else? Joey's an aunty now. Guess what else again? It's a boy, he's called Alexander. It's a cool little name and all, but they totally should have paid heed to my suggestion: Harry. Harry Potter's quite the revolutionary name, you know, and not at all unoriginal, I can't think of anyone with a name like that, can you?

Okay, I'll stop. Yeah, there was stuff I was planning on telling you about and yeah I opted out and took the easy route ie churning out a quick summary, but let's not forget here that whilst we've both wrapped ourselves up in the latest on _Tonight with Pacey Witter_, it still doesn't change the fact that you've been avoiding telling me about your home life and your Raleigh life and first and foremost when the hell did you and Tricia break up? That completely escaped your letters dude! I mean, it's you and Tricia, that's like... well, that's like a stoner without a bong or - or - fries without a side order of more fries. So whilst you're tuning in to Pacey Witter on _Tonight... _when you're in the leather chair, you too have to share.

Later,

Pacey.


	11. Invitation

Dear Pacey,

I didn't exactly say that we broke up, but anyway, you would be correct in assuming so. Oh, we broke up all right. It was quite a messy end actually. We rarely talk, when everyone's together it's quite tense. I mean, next to you, she's the only one that knows about the crap I go through with my father so maybe it's best you don't tell Dason and Joey and that Jen kid because even if they pretend to understand or try to relate or even if they know perfectly well what you're going through or not going through, screw it, they can only go so far.

We were good together, I'll give you that. Past tense. She met a guy. Brad. He was bigger than me, stronger than me, blonder than me. He does weights, has this amazing body, all that but there's no substance. I mean, I don't know what she sees in him. When I would talk to her, we'd talk up late for hours. With him it's just sex I presume. Sex for three straight months behind my back. You've probably met Brad actually. When's the last time you were down my end? Half a year ago? Well, he's the one that tries to pick fights, likes new kids to prove themselves. I wasn't really familiar with him and his cohorts until he started clinging round Tricia like something that needed to be treated with a prescribed drug.

You should come into town again, y'know. I'm sure it wouldn't hurt getting away from Capeside for a weekend, let a little bit of the dust settle over the death of the teacher crap. I know my parents would love to see you. Okay, scratch that, I know my mom would love to see you. I mean, you're the only friend I have that when you roll into town all she wants to do is feed you. I think you're her pet. You're well matched, I'm too shy to be her son, you... you're, well, you're Pacey. No other definition can suffice, I guess.

And I know another person that would love to see you again. Theresa. Hint, hint. Cough, cough (I'm actually coughing, got me a sore throat), and regardless of how things are between me and Trish, I'm sure she'd like to say hey too and then you could meet Brad, allow him to beat your ass because not that you can't hold your own dude but you're usually wholly inebriated anytime you visit, plus he's huge and, well, nothing will have changed because to my better knowledge he's still shooting steroids and you're still up for a good time that any time spent in Raleigh is usually accompanied with a drunken hazy perspective on things. So what's say you loser? You coming? Aw, come on! You have to now... no vulgar jokes, I'm pefectly aware of that last line but my pen's running low so screw you - I mean - oh, you're a bad influence, man. A bad influence.

Will.


	12. Love and Lifestyles

William Edward,

Tut, tut. You've had your fun analysing me and whatnot, so I'm going to take a stab. You think it escaped me that you drew upon Brad more so than Tricia in your last letter? When you say messy break-up you mean it wasn't all that long ago, in fact because you still seem to be harbouring some bitter intentions towards our main man Bradders I'm thinking this business between you and Trish was an extremely recent affair. Perhaps, in fact, between the time period in which I was ignoring you. When I was busy feeling the full force of my actions, you were realising an entirely different kind of pain. I understand that what I had with Tamara, as much as I appreciated our relationship, was not love.

You on the other hand loved Tricia. Very much so. You don't need to be reminded, but anyway. My point is... well, _if _I were to come to Raleigh for any period of time it wouldn't be to run out on the crap I got myself going on here, you aren't a scapegoat in any sense of the word, remember that dude. Okay, we write each other and stuff to pull away from our personal realities, but _if _I were to come let it be known that it's to help you out. To be there for you. You've been a hell of an absent friend to me (that was a compliment even if it didn't come off as one... you know what I mean, I guess) and I want to be there for you, physically this time. So yeah, I'm coming.

Before we begin to plan away our long weekend - now you're the goddamn bad influence - I want to point out right now how much I dislike the fact that you've branded me some drunken belligerent oaf when in Raleigh. I'm not _that _belligerent!

But oh yes, we will drink. We will drink till the cows come home. We will drink till the cows leave again, produce milk, let the milk curdle and evolve itself into bad cheese. Then we'll drink some more.

So this Brad... are we talking taller-than-my-mere-six-foot-two-inches big or 200-pounds-heavier-than-myself big? Or both? Because I gotta tell you, I'm not helping fight your corner if it's beyond inevitable that I get creamed despite my effort. So what does Tricia see in him again? She used to have taste. I mean, the entire time she dated you, me and her had a thing on the side. Don't be fooled. Everytime I asked you if you could fix me a drink or she went to touch-up in the toilets and I coincidentally needed a slash, I was in the ladies' helping her... touch-up.

Seriously dude, you're too trusting, and if that's your only downfall... sure you're going to get your heart broken, but I guess if I found something even resembling what you two had? Well, I'd probably think it was worth the heartache every time. I think I'm going to finish up now, for two reasons: Pacey Witter is becoming suddenly sentimental and it's scaring me, and secondly Dougie Witter is staying for dinner and has Abba blaring about the house and there's only so much Waterloo a guy our age can take before it makes a lasting impression and begins to thwart his lifestyle - both social and sexual - thereafter. I mean, just think, in six years time I could be writing - in perfect cursive, of course - to tell you that I just landed myself a job on the police service in tight blue helping kittens cross the street and yanking kids down from trees and that me and Dawson finally took things to the next level. Or even worse, I could turn gay.

Speaking of Dawson, I'm going to his now. My mom forgot to keep me dinner and Gale makes ever so nice lasagne. With much luck he's not anticipating getting it on with Jen but inevitably opting instead for a PG and staying horny, or worse still, Joey's with them and he's a fifteen-coming-sixteen year old boy with two chicks in his bedroom watching a PG and... still... staying horny. He has it all but he has nothing.

Anyway - bye!

Pacey.


	13. Detention

Dear Cruddy,

I had the worst day ever yesterday. Even worse than that time we were trying to make a tree hut up in that big ass tree out in Dawson's front yard and I fell and got my foot caught and hung there for maybe twenty minutes before Mitch managed to find a ladder in his attic. God, remember that? What age were we then? Nine? Ten?

Anyway, my worst day. Dawson is a complete ass. I'm not talking head's-up-his-ass pompous, I'm talking head's-up-his-ass pompous and then some thank you very much. He got it into that pleasantly blind-sighted thick skull of his yesterday that I was somehow trying to steal away 'his Jen' because... because I was laughing about him at the lockers that morning and because I got swept up with Tamara so I just mustn't be able to keep it in my pants.

All's I did was share The Nickname with the lovely Lindley and, hey, we weren't making fun of him for it, not in spite anyway and she was bound to find out sooner or later. Plus he can totally dish it out, he just can't take it. I mean, Joey's taken to calling me Jailbait now. Do I mind? Yes. Do I whine about it? Hell no.

I'll make this brief because Dawson's insecurities and hang-ups over Jen isn't actually the focus of this letter, believe it or not. It's about the repercussions of that dumbass that seemingly affect everyone around him, and he gets off on it. He loves taunting situations until they're exciting enough to be manipulated into some currently unwritten script. I mean, the guy analyses and tries to recreate the backdrop to the setting for a kiss! Moments don't exist in Dawson's world because he's an unbelievably boring person to be spending one's time with, well for a supposedly creative child genius anyway.

I sense I'm rambling again. So... Dawson was in a pissy mood with me yesterday because... I don't actually know why he was in a pissy mood with me. If it was because I was messing about with Jen well then that's just pathetic, and it stands to prove a hell of a lot regarding how he views both myself - someone he met in a drugstore when I was just this snivelling little four year old kid - and Jen - someone he's meant to be wholly infatuated with, and yet, seemingly can't trust her.

Dawson had such a thing about me yesterday that when we were in the gym, me trying to impress the cheerleaders, him trying to bag a free lunch if he won our little impromtu one-on-one basketball game - well, I used_ that _nickname again and he smacked me in the face with the ball. For absolutely no good reason. He broke my nose because I called him a name. I mean, whose the bigger kid here?

He got Saturday detention and so did I, but my reason was... well the cheerleaders were so friendly to me when they seen all this blood and me laying there, the coach shouting at Dawson... I was jerking off in the bathroom and wound up in the library right next to him after all that. But that's not even the half of it! Jen and Joey landed themselves in detention too. Joey hit a guy and Jen started something in class to my better knowledge, but I guess it would be hard being the new kid especially in a town like Capeside. She said Pickering's had it in for her from the very start, you know, looking for any excuse to bust her ass.

Well, when my pop found out I got detention it was easier to tell him that Dawson and I had a fight because (A) it was plaintively obvious _someone _had hit me and (B) can you imagine his reaction to a second mental image of his son and school and a compromised position? So fight it was.

And, dude, he gave me hell. Again. But worse. You see, he's always sort of liked Dawson because he's cosy with Mitch and that, he's never really cared about Jo because she's the convict's daughter and he probably couldn't tell me Jen's name because he's never been particularly interested in all things concerning me, but Dawson... oh, my. He used words like: "Do you want me to come across your face, boy?" I mean, who the hell talks like that? And _boy_? So impersonal and said with such contempt too.

He smacked me round the face just as promised as soon as he found out it was Mitch's boy I apparently enticed into breaking my nose with a basketball and took me by the arm straight up to my room. I'm grounded because of that son of a... Gale. Dougie's started to lay off me these days once he realised the beatings are a daily thing now. I mean, my father isn't_ abusive_ per se, he's just rough with me. He'd shove me around, smack me across the back of the head, whack me as hard he liked or take me by the scruff of the neck but he'd never punch or kick so... so it isn't that bad, and he's never hit me with any lasting marks, you know?

But when we were in my room he went on and on and on, telling me how grounded I am, how much crap I'm in, how disappointed he is because apparently Dawson is the one good thing in my life - a good friend to have and I'm pissing all over people and I do exactly the same thing to this family. He said he didn't respect me, Will. I'm fifteen, man, and my own father can't look me in the eye lest he's lunging for me and this time it's entirely Dawson's goddamn fault. I hate him. I hate them both. They're so up themselves.

Of course today saw us all in detention, and for the better part of the entire day I couldn't even look Dawson in the eye myself. We played truth or dare with another girl there: Abby. Abby Morgan. You probably don't remember her. I had to kiss Jen and man did I enjoy myself. I'm not interested in her in the slightest, she's pretty and all and she's a good friend but that's it. Dawson was really annoyed but a line was drawn there: annoy the hell out of Dawson, my new ambition in life. We even had a stab at our basketball game again, try to settle the score. I was winning again because, well, it's Dawson we're talking about here but he cheated in the end and refused to accept the fact that he can't excel in everything. The words we did exchange mirrored just that of my dad the night before, frighteningly similar in fact.

He did apologise in the end but it was definitely a case of little too late. I mean, he didn't even think he deserved to be in detention with us. But hey, who am I excommunicate myself from him? It's easy for him to just ignore any rift in our friendship because he has other things to be concerned about ie Joey. She stole the limelight, stole his attention from me and Jen. So in his head I accepted his apology albeit submissively and that suits him just fine. I'm just sidekick to him in an episode that will be forgotten about next week anyway so any mood I have with him won't apply anymore because if he's moved past it we all have to.

I can't wait till my little roadtrip down your way, my best friends are so suffocating and self-absorbed. I mean, Jen was the only one that expressed concern about my nose, Joey... well, Joey surprisingly had nothing to say. She probably started the whole thing, actually I bet she and D were in his room watching some lame-ass movie and started a discussion about yours truly incorporating all of Dawson's insecurities about Jen and sex and that and he channelled all that fear through me as some sort of scapegoat.

Well, I'm sick of it. I'm sick of being used and abused and shunned to the side. I'm sick of being the runt brother to a pack of wolves; the deadbeat son to a pristine police man in small town Capeside; and most predominantly I'm so goddamn sick of being Dawson's best friend. At least I have you.

Pace.


	14. Smile and Nod

Will dropped heavily into his chair, hunched over his desk as per usual with Pacey's previous letter crumpled before him. Upon first reading he had tore it at the edges with such was his apphrensive grip; upon second reading he had balled it into a piece of rubbish and thrown it at his Al Green poster in a blind rage; upon his seventh reading he laid it out delicatedly and focused on the first paragraph, first line, sensing somewhere and somehow within Pacey he had found rhyme and reason and opportunity to make little light of the situation even before he ventured into a vicious tirade about Dawson.

And although Will was more distracted by what was incorporated into the letter regarding Sheriff Witter, it was his intent that he too should not lose himself totally into what is the reality for some. If Pacey managed to cut and paste and twist that Dawson was somehow the rightful punchbag then so be it Will should probably just smile and nod along.

Besides if Will knew Pacey and Will _did_ know Pacey he might not mention Dawson in such a way ever again, his next letter might be entirely light-hearted and still come off genuine, and so he went down their usual route although he _had_ written and given up on attempts willing - begging! - Pacey to talk to someone, anyone, but that was a pretty pointless affair and the sad truth was that both boys knew it.

* * *

Dear Pacey, 

Well, well, well. Someone's a very angry young man today, aren't we? By the way I was just about to reply to the letter you sent before the whole Anti-Dawson thing and then I got this and nothing applied anymore so it's residing in my junk drawer somewhere... so... have you calmed down any yet?

I'll drop the patronising now, but it just comes too easy after all that Miss Jacobs stuff. Anyway, dude, I'm really genuinely sorry to hear about your father but - well - I do have one thing to say on that front. You said Doug doesn't really pick on you so much because your dad starts in on you more or less every day now, I'm guessing for one reason or another, but how come you've never mentioned that? You might have said once or twice, and with the milk carton thing... has he been hitting you this entire time Pacey? Is that what you've been doing with me - testing the water - and that every time you mention something about it you're sort of... toning it down for my benefit?

You said a while back that Doug would beat the crap out of you but Mr Witter would only take it so far, and then in your previous letter you described how he was like with you and if that's "how far" he takes it, and "daily" is as _often_ as he takes it, I don't know, something's going to have to be done about that. You're not so naive that you recognise he's being too "rough" with you, well I'm sorry dude but that _is_ being abusive. If it's every single day then it's verbal abuse, emotional... and he drags you about like a ragdoll.

I'll stop bothering you about it because if it has been ongoing you obviously didn't tell me for a reason, but I just want to know one thing. If Doug has started to lay off you does that mean that it's common knowledge in your family, man? Because there's something not quite right there, Pacey.

Moving along. I think I can safely say my opinion of Dawson Leery has changed somewhat, although I can't exactly say I'm all that surprised. I always had that opinion of him. This "I'm going to make movies and be rich and famous and you're my hired unpaid lackeys. Give me your summer, give me your time, learn your lines and Pacey, Will, I'm director here so stop horsing around and work for me" attitude. I'm in such a - how did you put it? "Pissy mood"? Well, I've totally just joined you, because Dawson's behaviour is really, really disgusting. I mean the guy calls himself your best friend... to think I used to hang out with such a fake. Maybe I'm not being fair to him, I mean, we all grow up, we all change. Can you imagine I was once even cockier than you? Look at me now, if I still lived in Capeside I'd probably just remain polite with him, confide and console in you about the situation but not step up in the least. You were probably right to let it pass over you, there's enough conflict already, right? Just forget it.

Will.

PS. We had just turned nine. It was the beginning of the summer. Do you remember before Mitch ran for his ladder, Gale was shouting up to me and Dawson to try and pull you upwards from the branch and whatever way we had you by the ankle your pants started slipping? I've never been so amused and so scared in a single situation in my life since. I mean, it was a long drop down if we'd have let go... and by the way, nice dinosaur underwear!

* * *

Hoping that he didn't come off _too _much of a lecturer, Will sealed his new letter into a nearby envelope purposefully sitting out before he lost his one remaining nerve and bottled it again. With a world-weary sigh he stretched back in his chair and swivelled around flexing his writing hand as a small cramp teased his muscles.

"Aw, Lord."


	15. Locked Horns

Dear Krudski,

For the record: dinosaur underwear is no laughing matter. Plus they were boxers so my mommy told me I was a big boy_; and_ I seem to remember a certain someone that used to travel everywhere we went with an Action Man doll and if ever it was left behind you would bawl your head off... or no, wait, was that Joey?

Speaking of Joey... and Dawson and Jen... blah-blah. Anyway, I dragged myself away from my little pity party thing I had going last time I wrote to you, not that they noticed. I think it lasted a good three weeks before I got an email from Jen, and I quote, 'Hey stranger, do you still exist or what?' to which I replied 'meh' and then she phoned and we hooked up and caught a film down the Rialto together. We're just friends before your mind starts to wander, it's quite refreshing actually.

I was thinking, why don't we ever email each other? It would be so much easier than writing the whole time... or is your internet still screwed up... or is this one of those sentimental friendshippy bonding things that we owe it to each other just out of tradition? Because I got to tell you, if so, man you're quite the loser.

Anyway... I'm digressing. Well, there's never any fluid logic motion to my letters but hey. I know you were humouring me about the whole 'D's an ass' thing, but like you're any different with Brad Schofield! I mean, when I rolled into town last weekend (by the way, can you believe that before Jen emailed me no one noticed in the slightest... my folks, sure, but my little almost-clique? After the whole detention thing they got used to my absence - I skipped work, a shift Dawson covers with me Saturdays and nothing was said) and fair enough you were entirely right about him being an ass... and about him picking fights with new guys - I still have the bruises to show for it, but I wouldn't be showing 'em considering he fights dirty so they're all a little too South for my liking and cheers for not disclosing such information.

What the hell was my point? Oh yeah! _I_ ranted and raved about Dawson but never actually said anything to him. Brad treated _you_ like crap the whole night in that bar and you gave the impression that you were playing the 'bigger person' role but you're just content living in his shadow too. I mean, I guess I should apologise here for punching his little lackey pal Brett Silvestri square in the jaw but he started it, apparent playful banter or not! Where I come from (and where you come from) taking a guy into a headlock and pulling his shirt over his head whilst Brad comes up from behind, shoving me about and trying to drag me outside, I'm sorry but I wasn't going to laugh it off and have another beer. I get enough of that at home... and at school after Miss Jacobs...

You predicted our weekend pretty precisely though. You got a crystal ball or something, Cruddy? But you can't say that Silvestri didn't start the whole thing... or Schofield. They're equal asses. Fair enough Pacey Witter _was_ under the influence of alcohol like you said, but even Dominic had reason to attach himself around people's waists, knowing someone was bound to give because of their smart mouth all night. Did you hear that crack about Capeside and you and me? Like he'd even know where to put -

Ahem. Brad Schofield and Brett Silvestri are the devil. I can't believe you never mentioned Brett before. Aw, he makes Dawson's bad habits seem almost... trivial. Okay, okay I admit, the problem's I have with Dawson and have had with Dawson in the past have always been trivial because deep down I know he's a good guy, but come on! Silvestri? Goddamn I hate him!

Later, Pace.


	16. Crystal Balls

Dear Pace,

Okay, okay fair enough you were _literally_ dragged into that fight so we can't hold it against you but you don't honestly think that you blindly hitting out at Silvestri was just mere self-defense on your part, do you? In that case why not have it out with Brad himself and I can't help but notice not a mention of his other loser friends either, namely: Golde and Jefferson... no? Or were you in too much of a drunken stupor to realise them equally taking their turn to hold you still whilst pounding the crap out of you before I joined in? (And, yes I admit that it took me too long to react, but they were just trying to provoke you to get at me).

See the way I see it, now that you've had your chance to poke fun at me, is that you specifically have it in for Brett for much the same reason I loathe Brad. Well, not the same reason because I loved Tricia and he ruined that, but like you said it takes two to tango... still only takes one to lead the tango, but I digress. Brett annoyed you the second he leant across the table and kissed Theresa, didn't he? Not that you two are or were or will ever resemble a relationship because let's face it, Theresa's not exactly one for the long distance thing. Everytime you come she's nervous and giddy and everytime you leave she clings to me asking questions about you, how you are, when are you coming back... my God.

No. You two have an understanding. You pick things up for the one weekend you're in town but it doesn't count thereafter. You just didn't bank on her having her own life too, right? I mean, you said once that all we did was talk about Capeside, well Raleigh's the same. Incestuous little circles, everyone hates each other because they can't remember why they're meant to be friends, bitching, moaning, fighting, forgetting - anyway, you understand why I'm so frustrated with Brad? I mean the guy's constantly on the fringes of our group because God forbid Theresa and Tricia drift apart and... well, you get the picture. He's there and whether or not I allow myself to be dragged into his degrading little bar room brawls he's still going to be there. Today, tomorrow, and the week after.

I mean, imagine you and Dawson fell for the same girl. Say... you got close to Jen. No better yet, say Dawson woke up and realised Joey for the first time (because my crystal ball says that's bound to happen soon... I mean how blonde is he exactly? The photos you sent on the other month... Joey Potter's evolved into a fine little lady. I smile) um... right about the time you realise her too. Imagine that? Imagine competing for a girl that you _know_ you want to spend the rest of your life with, and I know I'm young but I did feel that way about her, man, I swear it. Not that I was friends with Brad to begin with but now he's well cemented here... anyway, I know you can't understand why I still want to remain friends with Trish - subsequently having to put up with Schofield - but one day Pace you'll get it, no matter how badly she hurts you, you'll get it.

See you, Will.

PS my mother sends her love... and she wondered if you got your box of cookies, she noticed you forgot them so she went and posted them on.


	17. Detention II

Pacey chewed absent-mindedly on the end of the same pen he had borrowed from Dawson some months past as he made an effort in giving his nod to his teacher every now and then, straightening himself up in his chair, pretending to be enthused about the lesson being delivered before him when in actual fact it was Monday and he was hung over.

Once the teacher - Pacey's worst - moved off, directing his own attention towards the other half of the class in hope of surprising yet another pupil from their stupor, Pacey sighed thankfully and slumped back into his chair, pushing his text books aside with one arm and pulling on his as yet blank letter to Will from beneath his notebook.

* * *

Dear_---_

* * *

"What are you doing?" 

Pacey twisted sharply in his chair, startled, his pen drawing an untidy scratch after word one. Slumping further as he faced the front again to make sure the teacher wasn't aware of his profile, he turned more subtlety and focused blurred eyes upon his subject. Joey.

"What? Oh..." he glanced down at his page and quickly fixed it in between two pages of his nearest book. "Nothing. Uh... just trying to ignore you. What's it look like?"

"It looks like you're more of a jerk that usual actually, and not only that. It's not just me that notices it in you anymore."

"Really? You've been talking to my father then?"

"Mr Witter, Miss Potter perhaps the pair of you would wish to continue your conversation in Saturday detention? Otherwise kindly shut up," their teacher interrupted with faultless, pretentious elocution, "and fix your desks further apart, I want a clear aisle children. A clear aisle."

"Yeah, so's you can fit your fat ass up and down 'em," Pacey elaborated under his breath as he dropped his chin onto his hand.

"What was that?"

Pacey shot Joey a sidewides glare as he caught her snigger and again they were jointly reprimanded. Both mumbled their apologetic responses with Joey sighing huffily next to him as the ripple of laughter across the room and back gradually wained and their teacher relaunched into the spiel he was so rudely and unfortunately ripped away from. Retrieving his page, Pacey left Joey to her own devices just as he had vowed.

* * *

Dear--- William, 

My head is killing me. This English class is killing me. It's because----

* * *

Scrawling off he sighed impatiently and turned to Joey, fixing her with a tired look as the jab in the ribs came quick and unannounced. 

"What?" he hissed aggressively, his patience so worn thin it was no longer visble to the naked eye. She gestured with a cock of her head towards the ground and upon dropping his gaze he noticed just beside his foot a scrap piece of paper bundled into a typically neat ball as well it could be. Stretching, figuring it would prevent further elbowing, he picked it up and laid it out on his desk.

* * *

Okay, I might be reaching here but are you maybe not bothering with any of us for a particular reason or something? I mean 'bothering' in every sense of the word by the way. You're normally always there with your smart-ass remarks and - well - yeah, that's pretty much it. You never contribute to conversations unless it's something smart or... or assy. 

Is this because Jen and Dawson split up and he's suddenly knocking my door down for advice, is it because when it comes to you he's not? What? I mean... throw me a bone here. Please.

_Yes you are quite the dog. Here's your bone. How's about I don't actually give a crap about Dawson or Jen or whatever becomes of their relationship? I don't give a crap about whatever blossoming little thing you and Dawson are sharing at the minute either. I don't even give a crap that just because I fall out of the loop a couple weeks, drift back and then fall out of the loop again upsets or confuses or - what - bothers? - yeah bothers you. I was out last night. The only thing I care about is nursing my pain and contrary to your popular belief you're not helping. In fact you're undoing everything the pills I popped this morning promised so for the love of God please just leave me be._

No.

_Well, I'll not write back next time so stop tossing the note my way. Keep it. I don't want it. _

No. Look, seriously Pace what's up? You were totally fine last week and now suddenly you don't even eat lunch with anyone. I know you and I have never been particularly amorous towards each other but, well, contrary to _your _belief I don't necessarily hate your guts. Not totally anyway. Um... is it school work or something?

_No._

Okay, progress. So... has it do to with either myself or Dawson... or Jen for that matter?

_No._

No, what? It doesn't concern us or it _doesn't _concern us? We don't factor into it at all or it's entirely none of our business.

_Both I guess, but mostly the latter. No mostly the first. Aw, just leave me be Potter. If I'm landed in Saturday detention again this month I may as well throw the rope up now lest face my Pop._

Oh... is it family stuff then?

_That's exactly what it is._

Is it actually or are you just deciding that now so I'll drop it?

_Yes. _

Oh my God Pacey! Yes, what? Do you want me to jump across our little aisle big enough for Peterson to fit his, and I quote, "fat ass" up and down so that I can reach my hands around your puny little neck and strangle whatever it is out of you because I know it has nothing to do with me or any of us for that matter, but come on! You don't have to answer to us or anything, you just have to... I don't know, just... do you know what? Fine. I'll get stuffed. If that's what you really want then fine.

_Cheers._

I was calling your bluff. Just... you are _so _infuriating!

_And your handwriting is so ineligible._

I don't think that's the word you were looking for, you know.

_You know, you'd think I'd care... __but it turns out I don't._

What were you writing before?

_Nothing. I haven't had the chance what with all the unwanted attention you're bloody showering me. I know this biting banter thing that we both participate in is really your way of general playground fondness but you know... you totally don't do it for me. _

Screw you.

_I told you already. No thank you._

* * *

Joey scanned over their note, and Pacey watched her face intently for a reaction, the growing scowl and creased forehead he caused her evoking much amusement on his part. She crumpled it and chucked it viciously at him, catching both his arm and the attention of Peterson again. 

"Mr Witter, Miss Potter. I'm issuing you both lunch time detention," he announced without looking at them, and then as the bell sounded around him he added as if on his after-thought, "Class dismissed."


	18. Short Stories Long

Dear--- William, 

My head is killing me. This English class is killing me. It's because---- Right. Forgive me. I uh... I have a really annoying headache that won't let me concentrate on anything. I mean, I'm writing this in school so you would think I'd have reason enough to pull away from reality and focus whole-heartedly every last ounce of concentration I possess just to write a Goddamn letter. But this headache, I tell you, it's like... it makes me want to reach across the aisle between rows and columns of single desks, take the pen in hand and stab out---

Right. Forgive me. Again. And reading back that made no sense whatsoever, did it? Okay, short story long. Jesus Christ! Long story short. Dawson broke up with Jen. No. In an alternative universe maybe. _Jen _broke up with Dawson. Anyway it's just semantics I guess and it's all very, very boring. I mean if it was going to be one of those let's-only-find-time-to-talk-about-this-monumental-thing things, then why couldn't it at least be remotely interesting? Like Jen was cheating on him with his own father or something - no too Greek - or she wanted someone with a bit more... spunk, like a football jock or, well if she was going to go for anti-Dawson she may as well pick maturity over ape like a coach over a jock. Hmm... Mr Leery would make a good coach.

I'm sick. Yeah, in the head for thinking that but... and it's thumping and Joey Potter's existence isn't helping any. Give me sympathy. I broke into Padre's special little cabinet last night because, well, hell knows. No okay I do know. The little clique kind of bored me into recluse because... well, it's not so much that it's boring per se. I just don't understand why every conversation must centre around the good little Leery boy. Or Joey's family. You know the usual: 'I'm so hard done by because my unwed sister has shacked up with her black boyfriend, she's carrying his baby, my father's in jail and every person in this town is so small-minded to see past all the stereotypes and just leave me alone.'

I mean, first off she's just as bad as the small-town gossip mill if she introduces her sister as unwed as if being pregnant outside the boundaries of marriage is so unlawful (okay, they do take stick for it but I'm just pointing out the poignancy). I mean if she was truly open-minded herself, 'unwed' shouldn't come into the equation at all. It's Bessie's choice; and Bodie. The black boyfriend? Not... not the chef. Not the boyfriend who didn't run for the hills at the first sign of a baby bump. Not the surrogate older brother who treats her with so much respect and reverence and awe. No. He's just black.

Okay, there wasn't a secondly... I thought my rant may have taken me there but apparently not. Maybe you're right. Maybe I am warming to Potter if she only annoys me for a good two paragraphs and that's that. Joey should realise that it's not her family background that has her pegged to unpopularity, it's a severe lack of humour, cheer and all-round goodwill. By the way she landed us both in detention and she's up front using this as ample time to work on some extra-credit crap whilst I ignore her from the back of the class, so if she bursts into life on page again... you understand why.

You'll never guess what happened in my house yesterday? My careers counsellor phoned home about slipping grades and asked if there was in any way a shift or something in the house to excuse or compensate such an obvious slide in schoolwork, and apparently my behaviour is... hang on. I'm... I'm more boistrous and uncooperative these days too. Anyway my dad was all: 'This is totally unacceptable, Pacey. I won't have you dragging this family's good name through the mud again, Pacey. Blah blah blah blah blah, Pacey.' And he moved for me, you know? His arm raised and Dougie dragged me aside and said he'd talk to me for him.

I mean, I can't even remember one single solitary moment in my entire life that Doug's ever remotely stuck up for me; and we did talk, you know. He said he recognises that our father's especially hard on me and he figures it's just because I'm the youngest. I suppose that makes sense because the sun shines outside the back of him for sake of being the oldest boy - and same goes for the oldest girl too.

Me, Carrie and Gretch are sort of... meh. Like dogmeat. Gretchen's the smart one, the pretty one so she sort of redeems herself, Carrie's the... she married a guy just like our father only instead of the police service it's the army he's drafted himself into to take away from raising his own kids... anyway, marrying into money, that was her sort of saving grace. So I'm just the bit left over, the last bit of dogmeat scraped round the bottom of its tin that hasn't done anything particularly rewarding or self-satisfying, nothing admiral, nothing... nothing. I should donate a kidney to someone! You - you want a kidney, Will?

I'll swap you a kidney for a liver. Anyway, that's all I was writing about I guess. The fact that Doug and I bonded a little bit, which is good too because I'm not saying I'd profess my undying love and devotion to the guy any time soon, but we can go back to being brothers and hate each other... as brothers. It's weird when someone who never gives you the time of day suddenly takes an interest, isn't it? Well, I'll finish up here because... deep breath, swallow hard, I owe someone an apology.

Bye.


	19. A Child's Play

Dear Witless,

Out of complete coincidence I too landed myself in detention two days before receiving your letter. Don't know if it was exactly the same day, but coincidence nonetheless. I got caught hustling Schofield and Silvestri out of money in home room that morning. Well, it was hardly hustling, they just sucked worse than I did when it came to poker. If I'm not mistaken that was always your specialty. I'd pull our money in from pool, you would score us small time with a little hand at cards. We make quite the team. I miss that.

Anyway, this is my interest in your lack of interest thus far: poor Dawson. No only joking. Okay, no I'm not joking, I completely concur, it was bound to happen soon. I mean Jen sounds like... well, more of a Theresa-type gal and hanging with your little anal buddy Dawson... their end is as inevitable as a basketball in the face after pulling The Nickname out of the bag. Oompa Loompa - geez, we _really _shouldn't have made that up, should we? It's caused us nothing but bother haha. Remember the first time we thought it up? No, no remember the first time you called him it? We were in the school yard playing tag or whatever and he'd tripped you and you screamed it everywhere. Nice going dumbass, it really took off after that. Really, truly, thumbs up!

Despite being as romantically bitter as I am at the minute, I'm actually laughing. See I was just glancing over your last letter there and then went and fished out one of the earlier ones concerning Joey as well; and I quote (in reference to... what did she do here? This is dated the first Tuesday I moved... ah, she pulled a wedgie on you. Nice. I like her style): "The waistband was right over my head. Dawson was laughing. Even Gale was trying not to laugh when she took me inside to see to me. I hate Joey Potter. No. I hate the entire female race. I mean, I know as you grow older you're meant to warm to them and stuff so's you can get married and have them cook for you, but I'm thinking - well, I'm thinking I'll just stick with frozen pizzas and gum."

Witter words of wisdom aged eleven. Classic! Anyway, I just wanted to refresh myself with this little relationship you've both managed to forge over the years because "I owe someone an apology" in the very last letter, well, gee that wouldn't be the same Joey Potter that A) had you sworn off girls for life; and B) you were bitching about for paragraphs before you seen the greater good in her at the end, now would it? You children, you grow up so fast! I'm proud of you Pace, you've finally matured!

**By the way, this is a total "take the piss out of my good man Pacey" letter today; and next to the Joey thing this is two-fold. **_Sorry for the real heavy print there, man but the pen bust and... well I was scratching the words out with effort. I went and replaced the thing now but there's ink all over my damn hand, wrist and... aw, crap, my cuff too! Damn it. _

Anyway! So guess what? Dominic's sister is having a kid and... well, you know how they're really close? Apparently the guy's some real deadbeat that knows but doesn't give a crap, so Helen said if it's a boy Dom can name it, and he's going to be it's Godfather but I thought naming it was cooler than having to stand for it and give it money every now and then... and we all know Dominic's a little on the unimaginative side to say the least and was turning the names 'Dom' and 'Nick' over in his head, oh and "Len" in reference to Helen, so I took him down our school library (that he genuinely didn't know existed) and we went on a couple websites.

Okay, _now _guess what (because that last paragraph was just a little intro there)? I was searching the meaning of our names and you never told me that A) your name is French and B) derives from Paccius (Um, I'm loving brackets and A points and B points this afternoon). Oh, I'm mocking you **Paccius**! All those times you called me William too. Saying that I didn't know Williamette was a name either. Nor did I know it was German.

Moving on... no, moving back. Dominic arrived upon a name, not far from your own. Pontius. Helen decided on a name too. Williamette. This kid's just going to hate us when it's older, isn't it? Well, I'll blame absent Uncle Pacey because... just because.

Will.

PS. Uh... you didn't eat any of those cookies, did you? Turns out some of the ingredients may have expired... Christmas last. Well, goodbye!


	20. Emancipation

Dear **William**,

Okay I'm only going to say this once. Don't call me that. Anything, and I mean _anything_ but that. Paccius is my oompa loompa if you will, and sure don't I know Pacey and/or Pacy is derivitive of it? I know all too well. Next to you now there are only two other people in this world living that call me that: my dear old Uncle Paccius who assures me I'm his favourite nephew and named after him, and my Grams - but you can't take any notice of them because one is a recovering alcoholic who devotes their life after a failed marriage and having the kids up and leave 'em to tending a bee farm, and the other has blue rinse. And it's a sad day in hell when people pay heed to a forty something guy with blue rinse!

My Grandpa used to call me it too before he died, but... well that was only ever in reprimand when he wanted to pull me into line; no different to middle-naming people I guess, I _hate _when I get middle-named, don't you? You just know you're in the doghouse when that happens.

Major digression there. Point is: stop calling me that. Sorry, don't even start calling me that to thereafter have to stop it. I mean it, or I'll bring out the big guns. I'm sure Dom or Theresa or... _Trish _wouldn't object finding out that a certain little someone voluntarily enroled himself in ballet until the age of thirteen. Huh?

I'm sure you think I'm overreacting, but I'm totally not. I'm just a stickler when it comes to things like that, and it's not even like I call you William if your name's short for, I don't know, Wilbert or Wilbur or something or - Wilbur. Wilbur. Was he a pig or something?

Okay... I'm nearly sure there was a point to me writing to you this week. Oh, oh guess what? I'm moving out. I, Pacey Witter am moving out. I got this whole plan sorted see. Plus my Pop's more than able to write me off as an emancipated minor come the time, in fact, it was practically his idea. One of his lectures. I sort of told Dawson about the argument. But I skipped past some details. It was nothing new anyway.

Carrie, the ugly stepsister, well... in my head we aren't related. Let me dream. Anyway, she said that she can't wait till I hit eighteen and Dad can just take me out back and - I quote - "do me over." It's the general concensus in the house that I'm skating about on thin, thin ice and apparently the old man's been ever so lenient so far. They're all waiting for me to screw-up even more so or come of age and have the guy properly rip into me.

Maybe that's why Dougie's been more passive with me lately, because he already suspects that I'm getting it on the side. Screw them all. If Carrie can't wait for me to rue the day of my eighteenth birthday and Doug loves me out of pity because he knows the daily beatings are a bit much, it reinforces my belief that I am Milkman's Son. I've never belonged. Not in my family, not with my friends. I just... I want something good to come along, getting out of the house is start one. Kristy Livingstone is part two.

Later.


	21. Rawley

Dear Pacey,

I'm the other side of the coin. My dad's started in on me now. It finally happened; and I know what you mean, he might throw the TV remote in your general vicinity, he might trail on you and fling you away roughly, it's not _abuse _but it isn't kind. The difference between us is this: my mother knows and cares. Your family don't know, and the way you talk of Carrie, probably wouldn't care anyway.

Except Doug. You have to take his position into account. I mean, for a time I was him. I knew my mom was getting the raw end of the deal for years now, just as he knows the Good Sheriff is a hard-ass to you. And now that I'm on the receiving end, well, it isn't that different to watching or guessing it goes on. My mom taking the hits for me is just as bad - no! - worse. Worse, man. Hell, she's my mother, she shouldn't be the one crying. You probably keep Doug awake some nights too, Pace. You're his little brother and you resent him for not doing more, but what can he do? It's not entirely his fault the pair of you aren't close, it's not his fault he's up there with the Greats in your parents' eyes, and I know this is going to sound harsh but it's not his fault you can't stick up for yourself.

Now I'm not saying you're weak or anything, but the change in my father, the way he's finally noticed me, not for the better, but well you know... well, maybe it's our fault, you know? I mean, have you ever raised your fist to him Pacey and said no? Leave me alone? Naw, I didn't think so. It's your fault he picks on you. It's clear you're just the runt of the litter. He sees it, Carrie sees it, your friends see it. People like us, we deserve everything we get. At least I'm taking one for my mom Pacey. What's your excuse? What's stopping you telling him to back off?

I hate this so much! I hate that son of a - I hate everything about him. The way he looks. The way he smells. The way he behaves. He's a grade A pig. Be it a factory worker or be it a figure of authority, the foundations of the community or the pillar of society, they're all the same - fat, balding drinkers who release the weight of their worlds unto their sons.

I know you did no wrong Pacey... I know I'm not to blame either, logically, I mean... I _think_ I'm a good person and I can see it in your eyes that you're definitely not a wrong 'un. I mean, Theresa just loves you to death! And you've met her, that's really something, she's a cross between Joey and, well, but perkier. Okay, okay Joey and perky don't belong in the same sentence, but I think you know what I mean. She can match your wit.

Will.

* * *

Having scratched his name goodbye, Will allowed a quick glance over his words and his brow furrowed as he wrapped himself around each sentence. Slamming his pen against the wall in a temper and ripping the page from its notebook and balling it into a tired fist, the words were forced into abyss alongside empty coke cans, tissues and pencil shavings mounting up in his waste-paper bin beneath the chair. Tilting on the hind legs of which he sat, he picked up a new pen and started on his redraft objectively, hopefully more jovial than embittered, more false for everyone's benefit.

* * *

Dear Paccius, 

Hey man. I know exactly how you feel. More. Than. You. Know. Can I get in on this emancipation idea? Cos I gotta tell you, my old man is driving me insane. Even my mother - I just - I need out of this place. I'm moving out. I'm trying to get out. I heard about this scholarship thing for a prep school. It means I'd have to board over in Rawley if I got it. Can you imagine that, man? Not only would I be getting away from the best of the Krudski clan, but I'd have a whole new start and a whole new life away from Tricia. It sort of hurts being around her at the minute. Well, not every minute, just every other waking hour.

She's like a cigarette in that regard. I don't smoke anymore though. Well, did I ever truly smoke? A good friend once told me that if it only happens when we've had a few... although being completely trashed qualifies as "a few" in his book, cough, cough, if it only happens then it didn't really happen to begin with. Smoking is just alcohol exaggerating things. Like when you kissed that girl who - okay, okay we both agreed never to talk of _him_ ever again. Sorry. Forgot the pact.

The only problem with my plan is that, in order to get out, well there's this entrance snag. A little old test to prove your worth. If I didn't make it Pace... I'd be setting myself up for an even bigger fall, wouldn't I? I'd have the failure typecast hanging over my head much like you do. Through no fault of your own, I know you're smart, and not to sound all Dawson-ish but I know I'm smart too, but one bad essay, nerves, anything, it all comes down to this entrance test.

I need to get out man, and if not, well, like it or lump it, I'm joining you on your plan. Do I want to know? I'm guessing, knowing you, it has something to do with making a little moo-lah. Is it cosure? Aw, hell I don't even care at this point. Why should I give principles a once over if the big cheese police officer from my idyllic little childhood home treats his own son like his perps behind half-closed doors? It's no wonder you have authority issues.

Wilbur.


	22. Mr Windjam

Dear Will,

My plan is this: okay, no wait, before I tell you my plan I think further justification is in order. But somehow I don't think you could get in on it, there's already a hoorah already about my involvement. So much so, in fact, that I've inspired Dawson to get all Hitchcocky on us again, thinking he's filming some cult classic innovative blah blah. Realistically, his mom is in local media. Big whoop. Anyway, I'm entering myself in a competition that pays out generous little pocket money to hopefully put a deposit on a place. I figured that way I could have freedom for at least a few months. Stupid, but worth it - and no, that's not what the girls say about me. So this competition, I mean, hey, even if I don't win, I'll really piss my dad off something shocking! How sweet.

Do you remember in your days of pre-pubescent Capeside, the tourists? The amazing wealth for small time businessmen and the lipo-addict wives with their martinis and champagne and maturing wine living it up at the yacht club? The kids in school, who, even at that age, whatever age we all happened to be, knew the difference between us: we'd only ever amount to waiting on tables while they... well, they'd be dining at those tables. Yeah... I mean, we wouldn't have a reason to be stuck up next to them, they're like happy pills or something, man. They could humble any brat, they even made Dawson look good. Hell, we're nothing even though we're the majority. And I hate that. But I suppose... well, I suppose that's part in parcel. You get that class snobbery everywhere, right?

If they stepped outside the little coastal town bubble they might realise that they aren't particularly well-off, mummy and daddy just happen to benefit from the waves of tourism week after week in the summer, then it's our time. Well, for now I'm going to try and imitate such is the greater identity. And no I don't mean beating up one of the jumped-up snuffed-up little losers and stripping him of his tux so I can play man about town with a cigar and an anorexic peroxide blonde dangling off my arm cos she sniffs money... jeez, I'm in a bad mood this evening. I've just swallowed a text book of knowledge to bluff my way through two and a half essays today, you see, knowledge that I don't even need to acquire for the big, bad world after Capeside High, but hey. What was I talking about? Duh duh-duh... oh, my plan. I was going to say rabbits, but clearly I was talking about my plan. I think I'm going crazy.

So! For one night, I - and Joey - Joey and I will parade ourselves about like the rich tramps we know we aren't; because really, I mean, who determines how we behave? Yeah? Think about it man, if I'm going to be judged by the lawyer's son or the executive's daughter upon what I wear, how I talk, my lifestyle in the halls at school, in classrooms and at lunch regardless! Well, why shouldn't I be judged on stage? With the opportunity to make a little dough, hopefully, in the meantime?

Have I sold the idea to you? Laugh now but know this: I'm Pacey Witter; I'm fifteen; I'm comfortable in myself; and I'm going to be crowned Capeside's very first male Miss Windjammer - and, better yet, the convict's daughter? The backwater girl with the nephew out of wedlock and the surrogate black brother? She's going to give as good as she gets. These rich fancy-ass all-white all-American all-"daddy's going to buy me a mocking bird" socialite snobs can't hold a candle to Potter in a million years. Not in a million years.

...and, well look, if it turns out that we don't particularly shine I could just appeal to the fairer sex on the judging panel. I'm sure there'll be at least one hot broad trying to compete with her youth and hang on to her looks long enough, and be insecure enough about it, to fulfil my older woman fetish for... lets be damn ambitious. Twenty minutes.

Later man,

P.


	23. Mr Will jammed

Dear Pace, 

I just - I - you know, you have this God given ability to cheer me up. Even when I think a smile is beyond me you do something, or say something, and just... you're just classic man! Pacey in a beauty pageant and not because of a dare, I can't wait to tell the guys. They already think you the loveable troubadour from time's past, the insight into Will's pre-reservedness and all manners and maturity.

I mean, Dom still doesn't believe me that it was me out kicking your ass on the playground day after day. "I'll take you anytime, any place" says little-boy-Pacey. Kick to the crotch goes little-boy-Will. Tumbles to the ground goes little-boy-enemies. I mean, damn it man, if you'd have just learnt not to call me Cruddy! So Paccius...

Guess what I did three days ago? I broke my wrist. I was five hours waiting in casualty and then another three the next morning for a support bandage and stuff. But then I got prescribed drugs, so it got good! It was Schofield's fault. Him and Silvestri were all up in my face because he's stood Tricia up or something and she turned to me and wet my shoulder with her tears, naturally, I'm the nice guy.

It wasn't my fault. I was backed into a corner. I'd just went a round with my dad that morning. I was angry unjustifiably at everything and anything so I took a swing... but I missed, hit a wall, hurt my hand, few fingers, well, my wrist, but y'know...

It really pissed them both off that Tricia was first to sign it. In neon green: TRISH. I want her back, man, I... for six weeks I'm going to be waking up with a little piece of her every morning and I know that sounds stupid. And I know you don't understand that pathetic but necessary desperation just to be near her, even in essence, but I've longed for something more the entire time I've known her.

If she stays with Schofield or I get into Rawley or... I don't know, if something changes or everything stays the same... it'll kill me. I... I don't want to be _nice_ because I don't want to be lonely. And I certainly don't want to be whiney, or dramatic, I just... I want her to feel it too.

Will E. Krudski


	24. In Vino Veritas

Dear Will,

Perhaps I haven't been entirely honest with you. That weekend I went up to Raleigh, we got a little drunk, we shared a couple stories... it was after the fight with Silvestri. You were still with Trish and Brad and... Theresa took me out back behind... I can't even remember the name of the bar now. She hit me. Then we kissed. She hit me again, then started crying. She said she really liked him - Brett not Brad. You know. Said, I wasn't even really a part of her life.

Which is true, I don't go thinking about her when I'm back home. I mean, a few weekends out of the year. What's that? That's nothing, right?

She said I was just like you. This harmless guy who doesn't intentionally do the wrong thing but harm hugs around him anyway. I asked her if she really liked him and maybe she was just bored of being alone. I was just trying to be a friend, at this point we'd both established it just wasn't going to happen between us. Neither was committed enough or old enough to even whisper "long distance." So if _I_ was nothing, something about that fight had her in tears.

She said Tricia was bored of you, man. She just... went off you. I know I was wholly inebriated, I couldn't even stand up straight and Brett's simple act of pulling my shirt over my head was enough to confuse me because I didn't have the key hand-eye coordination to fix it down again. All that was a little hard to take let alone engage in a deep and meaningful with anyone in that room that night, but even through my hangover the next day her words were haunting me, a constant ringing in my ears. Like... like bells.

I know I'm not the most articulate of yours friends to employ tact here, and clearly not the most sensitive, so at the risk of sounding unsympathetic, honest and Joey-like: it's over, Will. She chose him. You're going to have to move on. Maybe, hey who knows, maybe Rawley is the next definitive step in the life of Will Krudski. Huh?

I'm sorry, buddy. I am.

Pace.


	25. Fires of Friendship

_Hey to whoever reads... if anyone reads lol. Just realised these wee letters are getting damn small these days but hey. I'll try to improve upon that. Nearly done with Season One anyhow. I've written a few into Season Two but that's about it. Just getting lazy on the posting I guess. **17th March. Happy St. Paddy's Day from Co. Antrim, Ireland here (go Saffrons)!**_ Shamrock 'n' Roll dudes. 

Dear Pacey,

Oh really? Well I'm sorry but I don't believe you. You aren't me, you don't know. I know love. You? You pine after a senior who probably doesn't even know your name. You let your best friend mould you into an unequal sidekick lackey. You let your dad walk all over you. You take crap from an emotional Theresa. All the while you don't give a crap about yourself! So I'm hardly going to listen to you when you can't relate. As much as I love you man, you're wrong. I have a lot of time for you, but you're just wrong. 

You know, I wanted to say this in my last letter but I held back. But apparently we don't hold back anymore Pacey, huh? Even though we live in different zip codes, rarely see each other, I'd still consider you one of my best friends. But... but that doesn't mean you can govern things from your end. Now I don't know what you think you heard, fact of the matter is you probably had concussion. You got your ass kicked that night, as did I, it was humiliating, but it happened. It happened because you happened Pacey. 

You're the reason bad things happen. I can't believe my dad is the way he is because of my mom, she's a saint, and she's a best friend too. Assuming they had enough love for each other in the past to get married in the first place, I can only see one logical decline in their relationship: me. Now I don't know why he treats me and my mom like crap, but she doesn't deserve it. You'd better start asking yourself the same questions because in the meantime you're just a burden on Doug.

If my mom can't blame him and I can't blame her... it's me. Tricia didn't go off me. We loved each other. Something's changed, something's declined it for us. Now I came along and ruined it for my folks. Schofield came along and ruined it for us. Theresa may be Tricia's best friend but just like you she's prone to get it wrong sometimes. I don't blame you for messing up, I just pity your track record.

Will.


	26. The Estranged One

Dear William Krudski, 

Do you know what? Screw you, man. I'll not bother next time. I'll not bother with pen, with paper or with stamp. I'll agree with one thing, I am lackey to Dawson and to my dad. Well, I'm not going to have you take things out on me too. I understand what you're going through is tough, but at least I had the courtesy to confide in you without anger. I left bitterness outside the page. If I was having trouble writing it down for you, I'd sleep on it and pick up pen later. You know that. 

I don't care how immature this is, but it's a step up from ignoring you totally and never properly clarifying things. Anyway, here goes: don't try to contact me. I have enough on my own plate, and you need to sift through a hell of a lot of priorities and issues right now. Clearly we can't be each other's responsibility. The summer before this one you completely ignored me and only replied when it suited. I'm not your escape and I'm not going to be your target. I'm not your friend. 

Yours faithfully, 

Pacey J. Witter.

* * *

"Pacey! Pace - wuh-ho little brother," Doug grinned, suddenly dangling off the door handle and inviting himself into the bedroom. Pacey snapped round to him from his desk and folded Will's letter into two aligned creases, hastily but with skilled precision filing it away into its rightful envelope and bringing its overleaf across the warm surface of his tongue.

"What do you want Dougie?" he asked with controlled resentment.

"What, can't a brother have a civilised conversation with his favourite little drag queen sibling?" Doug gloated, flopping onto the bed just as Pacey stood, rigid, and stuffed the envelope into his back pocket. "I didn't actually think you'd go through with it, but I must say I finally see the light! For years you put up with the closet case gag when all along it was a damn clever ruse to deflect from yourself..." he squinted at him - pretending to think - and wagged a finger in hearty reprimand, "well, you know what they say, Pace: the lady doth protest too much." 

"I'm not gay." 

"Yeah. Okay. Keep hope alive there, loser." 

"Say what you want, I don't give a crap. Dad already pulled me on my 'behaviour,' I don't really need you recalling events of weeks past, it's not like I suffer amnesia."

"What did Dad say? I mean..." Doug'sbrow knitted curiously, "we all had a laugh at how much of an idiot you were, but... no more than usual. It stopped there."

"Idiot?" Pacey grinned tightly, raising his eyebrows, "And you say it so casually too! Cheers, great, thanks. A lot, really. Mr Leery and Dawson seemed to think I was advocating gender equality but there you go. Nice to know my family have my back." 

"And were you? Or were you just living up to expectation?" 

"Yeah, well maybe I was Dougie. Maybe I don't really give a crap what you all think because, let's face it, no one really gives a crap about me around here, what I do, _or_ what I have to say. So what's the point in continuously trying to prove my worth to this family, huh? Perhaps I just suck at it, not doing a very good job or whatever because it hasn't paid off so far, so to my knowledge, whilst you're all still busy gossiping and laughing and commiserating each other at being related to such a loser, yeah, I decided to give you all something to talk about. Something to _really_ talk about. I'm just a running joke to you all regardless. Why lie to myself any longer?"

"You know," Doug sucked in a breath, stepping forwards, "I could defend this family's good name, intentions... rhyme off all your failures because believe me little brother, it's not a very short list." 

"Go away," he mumbled, almost pleadingly, with his last ounce of spirit leaving him. Dropping his head and slumping his shoulders was enough to gain Doug's sympathy, or at least, attention.

"I'm here now, aren't I? What did Dad say to you?" 

"Oh, you know..." Pacey raised his hand as if batting away concern.

"No, I don't think I do." 

"Well," Pacey lifted dark eyes to him, "it wasn't so much what he said. Per - per se." Doug straightened up, crossing his arms over his chest. "I got the usual speech. I'm an embarrassment, I'm a loser, I'm the worst end result of failed contraception known to man. Oh, yeah, the words actually crossed his lips. It was, ugh, gross - to say the least."

"He hit you?" 

"No."

"No?" 

"Look, I didn't do anything wrong. I entered a competition. Albeit a controversial one, but I didn't - how come I have to be the one dragged from pillar to post? It's just accepted among you all that that's my role, to hell with it, it's only Pacey. I'm fifteen years old, man! What could I have possibly done to make you all dislike me so much? Because I can't think back that far."

"Stop being over dramatic here Pacey."

"Aw, do you know what? If you're to do me one favour, Dougie? Just get the hell out of my face. I don't need this, I don't need any of you guys." Doug seized onto his arm as he made to go by him for the door. "Get off me, I've got things to do." 

"What things? Come on Pace-"

"Don't Pace me, I'm going to mail a letter like it's got anything to do with you. You've made it perfectly clear what colour your flag is, I don't need help from a useless overlooked deputy in a small-time small-minded white picket fence town. You want to bury your head in the sand, be my guest, but don't for a second shove any of your insecurities onto me. You don't want to be gay? Don't be gay. You don't want to blame dad? Don't blame dad. Now I may be stupid and I may be a loser and the family knows it and the whole Goddamn town knows it, but all I can try to be is an honest individual so don't _dare_ try to take that away from me too."

"Honesty? What's that got to do with anything?"

Pacey pulled away from him and smirked, "Some days I'm glad I don't fit in around here. Your morals are more blind-sighted than mines. You and Captain Callous police this town? God damn," he laughed, taking a look around his bedroom, "no one's got a hope in hell."

"Did Dad hit you Pacey?" Doug demanded again. "He's out fishing with a few guys from work, Mom's out shopping, Carrie's away all day with the brats. It's just you. And me." 

Pacey shrugged a shoulder and slipped his hand into his back pocket. Fingering Will's letter, he pulled it out and tapped it against one palm, "Naw, he didn't hit me Dougie. Does that make you sleep easier at night? I'm sorry to have disappointed you. He wouldn't so much as look at me let alone lift a hand to me."

Doug seemed genuinely relieved at this. Pacey shook his head quietly, pivoted and disappeared down the staircase without a second glance. 


	27. Letting Go

Dear Pacey,

I'm... it broke my heart when I got your last letter. The last letter. I can't even remember half the things I said in mine, but I mustn't have been very delicate. I wrote it in anger, you're right. I hope you did too. Thinking back all those months, I took a step back and tried to help you objectively but clearly I've did wrong. I should have listened to my own advice.

I know from your point of view it probably seems something exacting the truth because I admitted to almost sending a similar hate mail-esque thing before, but I assure you it wasn't, pal. It's not a thought or opinion I have of you kicking around my head, it's my own insecurities; and coupled with the want to hurt you because of the whole Tricia stuff... I never should have tried to use your family stuff against you for a personal gain.

If your friends knew how it was for you when you go home at night they would be filled with an unexplored guilt. So imagine how bad I feel? Using you to write away my own problems and knowing specifically which buttons to press to rile you up? Man, it's irredeemable and I can honestly say, hand on heart, the worst thing I've done to date.

I must really be a bad person. I'm not fishing for sympathy or anything. But forgiveness would be nice. I just pray God speed you actually decide to open this letter, or even read a bit of it before ripping it up, because maybe it will encourage you to reply as soon as possible. I'm sorry, dude. I'm really, really sorry. From a would-be friend to a friend: please? I was going to write letters upon letters and annoy you to death, annoy you into submission, but... if I want and hope to get through to you I should respect your wishes. I won't try to contact you after this. I won't try to phone.

I guess great minds think alike, this is... a clarification letter. You took the time out to say goodbye, to demand a goodbye, I'm just... letting you know I... I got your letter, and I... messed up and all that and, apart from the same vein as your last letter, I won't contact you. If that's what you want, goodbye Pace.

Love,

Will.


End file.
